


A Completely Rotten Christmas to the Core

by TruthandLies



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Christmas, F/F, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruthandLies/pseuds/TruthandLies
Summary: When their parents make the holiday anything but merry, the Rotten Four find Christmas with each other.
Relationships: Evie/Mal (Disney), Jay/Carlos de Vil
Comments: 13
Kudos: 171





	A Completely Rotten Christmas to the Core

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taytayloulou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taytayloulou/gifts).



> Written as a Secret Santa gift for Bunny-Lou on Tumblr. Merry Christmas, my dear.

Her cheek swollen from Mother’s slap, Evie curls up in a corner of the of the Rotten Four’s clubhouse, flipping through the pages of a children’s Christmas story. The pages are torn and tattered, but something about them eases the pressure in Evie’s heart. Each of them is painted with images of Christmas: Trees as big as a room, glittering with multi-colored lights; children sneaking downstairs at first dawn to open piles of wrapped presents; snow fluttering from the sky, swirling into a world fresh with white.

She presses her fingertip to her eyelash, still wet with tears, and gazes at the Isle world outside. A world where it is never white, where fresh snow never falls. A world where Christmas does not exist for the daughters of Evil Queens.

A world where mothers force their daughters into too-short skirts and shirts that plunge down down down. Where they force them to sit beside men-who-could-have-been-princes (but have become pirates), and whisper things like _Kiss him, Evelyn…Touch him, Evelyn…Practice to become a princess, Evelyn… Did you really think it was all cleaning and cooking, Evelyn…_

A world where pirate princes run their calloused fingers across the cheeks and along the lips of girls frozen to their chairs. Where those same pirates howl in pain when those same girls bite their fingertips. And where mothers smack daughters who do not behave.

A world where Christmas is disguised as cruelty, and misbehaving daughters tumble outside into the ice, tears stinging their eyes and pain stinging their hearts.

Evie sniffles, swallowing her tears. She pulls her shirt higher, as high as it can go (which isn’t saying much, with the plunging neckline), and flips another page in her tattered children’s book. She loses herself in a scene of a family standing together around a Christmas tree, with fresh snow peeking through the window in the background. And she wonders: Are her friends faring any better this Christmas than she did?

* * *

Seriously. This whole Christmas thing is cracked. Mal huffs and falls back against the outer wall of a tin roof house, as Mother cackles and knocks on the door.

“Mother?” Mal calls, crossing her arms. “Why are you bothering to knock when –”

The door opens. A little girl stands in the doorway, clutching the arm of a beaten-up teddy bear.

 _Great._ “Run,” Mal singsongs to the child. “And hide your teddy bear.”

But the girl is too captivated by Mother’s glowing green eyes. She stares, transfixed, as Mother pounces, curling down upon her with claws outstretched. “Why, what a beautiful little girl you are,” Mother coos, tracing a claw beneath the child’s chin. “Are your mommy and daddy home?”

The child whimpers.

“Eldora?” calls a scratchy feminine voice from inside. “Who’s at the d– Oh.” A woman stumbles to a stop, her eyes flying wide, her final _oh_ sharp and horrified.

Mother’s lips serpent into a smile. “Hello, dearie.” She remains coiled around the child, her claw at the girl’s throat. “Feel up to paying your tribute today?”

The woman grabs the child’s shoulder and jerks her backward. “It’s Christmas, Maleficent.”

“Why, yes.” Mother’s claws slip to the girl’s bear. She yanks it from her arms.

“Mother,” Mal says, her voice edged.

So edged, Mother turns and glares.

There may not be magic on the Isle. But Mother’s cold green glare cuts through Mal like cutlery.

“Is there something the matter, Mal?” Mother curls her claws around the bear’s throat, as though she is silently promising Mal the same fate.

Mal freezes in the vortex of Mother’s stare. Her hands begin to tremble. She shoves them into the pockets of her leather jacket. She will not let Mother see them shake. She opens her mouth to respond. To fight. To get Mother to leave these people alone. It’s Christmas. The little girl is no more than five. The mother’s face is grey as the ice coating the Isle streets. She takes a deep breath and wills fire into her eyes. Wills it until her eyes burn with the fire of the fae. Burn in challenge to Mother’s freezing glare.

But Mother taps into her own powers until her gaze smolders and intensifies. And then she begins to tear the head off the bear.

The child’s whimpers turn to cries.

Mal stares into Mother’s eyes and pinpricks of pain slice into her skin. Any words of battle are lost to the silence, as her throat closes down in fear. With a disgruntled cry, she snatches the bear from Mother’s claws and wraps it in her arms. “Fine,” she chokes out, breaking away from Mother’s smoldering stare. “But I’m not hanging around while you steal their Christmas presents.”

“Such a disappointment.” Mother taps her claw against her lips.

“Better than being an evil witch.”

Mal has had enough. The last thing she needs is a recitation of everything she’s done wrong. She marches past Mother and into the starless night. 

Stalking through sludge turned grey, she clutches the arm of the tattered little bear.

* * *

Wearing a thief-sized grin, Jay slinks through the door of his father’s hut with a bag full of loot. In the last two hours, he’s managed to slither down six chimneys and steal several of the trinkets moms and dads had planned for Christmas stockings. Cups and horns and coins and porcelain dolls. Enough to make some serious bank.

“Jay, is that you?” His father calls.

“In here, Dad.” Jay slings his sack onto the floor, near where he sleeps. Who knows? Maybe all this loot will be enough to score him a bed for the night. After all, it is Christmas.

Jafar steps into the room, where his gaze travels to Jay’s sack. A shadow seems to flit over his features. “What did you bring me?” There’s a pirate’s-blade edge to his voice.

The same kinda edge he uses whenever Jay has failed to do something right.

Jay’s grin fades. “Check it out.” He rips open the sack, where all the trinkets are on display. “It’s –”

“Junk.” Jafar’s nostrils flare. “You’ve been gone for two hours, and you brought back junk.”

“But, Dad.” Jay falls to his knees and scoops out a silver cup and a porcelain doll. “This stuff’s legit. Real silver and porcelain.”

Jafar stomps two steps closer and stares down at Jay’s trinkets. “You incompetent fool. The doll is missing an eye and the cup is cracked.” He forms a fist and knocks the trinkets from Jay’s hand.

Jay winces. “It’s the Isle,” he says, dumping the trinkets back into his sack. “You know what trinkets are like around here.”

“What about the Christmas presents then? Why bring me trinkets when you could bring me real goods?”

Jay stares down at his hands, which are stained with chimney soot. Truth is, he almost did go for the gifts. But he couldn’t do it. Because… “It’s Christmas, Pop. Don’t you think the Isle deserves a little good cheer?” He dares to glance into his father’s face.

A face that ghosts white and then bleeds red. “Good cheer?” His father spits the words. “You’re a thief, boy. Learn to think like one.” He whips back his hand, bringing it down across Jay’s cheek.

Pain explodes across Jay’s face. “I thought I was,” he chokes, cradling his cheek.

“And for that,” Jafar says, lifting the sack of trinkets, which clinks together as he carries it to the door, “you’ll sleep outside with your stolen trinkets.”

He tosses the sack outside and waves his arm for Jay to join it. “Next year, bring me real goods and I might let you sleep on the sofa.”

A burning sensation stings Jay’s eyes. He whips his hand across them, unwilling to let Dad see. Instead, he marches out the door, a son-turned-thief.

He waits for the door to slam, and then he picks up the sack and hefts it over his shoulder. His cheek throbbing in the cold dark air, he begins the trek back to the first house he stole from.

Turns out, he’s only up to collecting junk this year. So he might as well take it back to where it came from. Because even Isle kids deserve a Christmas.

* * *

Carlos sneaks from his house, closing the door behind him. Inside Hell Hall, his mother curses and crashes through piles of fur. Fur Carlos was supposed to keep clean. Fur he soiled when he fell after four lashes of Mother’s whip.

One lash for failing to properly clean her fur.

One lash for failing to properly paint her nails.

One lash for failing to properly congratulate her on the strength of her lashes.

And a fourth lash _“Because it’s Christmas, darling, and little boys should understand just how good they have it all the other days of the year.”_

A fifth lash whooshed toward his back, but Carlos fell onto the coats he hadn’t cleaned and soiled them further with his blood.

“You worthless fool,” his mother cried, dropping her whip and cuddling her fur. “How dare you soil my poor little darlings?”

“I – I’m sorry.” Carlos backed toward the door. “I didn’t mean –”

“Didn’t mean to bleed on my precious coats?” His mother growled, snatching up her whip. “Come back here, Carlos.”

But for once, Carlos didn’t listen to Mother. For once, he turned and sprinted from Hell Hall, out into the freezing night.

He slams the door behind him, cringing at Mother’s curses and shrieks. The cold air bites into his skin, sinking into his wounds. His shirt is in tatters, his skin knitted together with blood and bits of leather flakes torn from Mother’s whip.

But he wraps his arms around his body, gritting his teeth when the movement stings. And he jogs far and fast from Mother’s Hell.

The streets are brighter tonight, even in the Isle shadow. Certain shops glint with Christmas lights, and a browning Christmas tree shimmers in Isle Square. Even the moon shines slightly through the clouds. Shines a few doors down, where a boy carries a sack up onto someone’s dilapidated porch.

 _Jay._ Carlos’ chest constricts. _Of course. Who else would show up when I look like crap?_

The splintered moonlight slides along Jay’s muscles. Muscles that bulge as he lifts trinkets and places them onto the porch. And when Jay glances up from his sack of gifts, the moonlight caresses his eyes, softening them and turning them a velvet black.

Carlos ducks behind a bush. The last thing he needs is for Jay to see him looking like this.

Jay whistles. A moment later, his footsteps crack along the icy sidewalk. Closer and closer, they come.

Carlos slides back along the bush, ducking beneath the foliage.

But Jay, ever stealthy, catapults over the greenery, landing stooped in front of Carlos. “Trying to hide, my friend?” He greets Carlos with a grin that does wicked things to a boy’s heartbeat. “Or just playing peeping Carlos?”

Carlos forces out a laugh. And says the first words that pop onto his tongue. “Mother’s on a rampage.” He cringes. _Dammit. Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He swallows a breath, waiting for Jay to notice his wounds. Waiting for Jay to stare at him as though he is weak.

But Jay’s eyes do not dance, as they so often do when he’s getting ready to tease. And they do not darken with pity.

They remain a velvet black, deeper now, more understanding. “Did she hurt you again?” There’s a bitterness in his voice.

A bitterness that seeps into Carlos’ muscles like a balm, comforting and warm. “Oh, you know.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad.” The words are stale and tasteless, like so many lies.

Jay stares at Carlos for another shattered heartbeat. And then he opens his sack and pulls out his jacket. “I’m actually pretty warm tonight.” He holds his jacket out to Carlos. “You wear it.”

“Are – are you sure?” Carlos touches the buttered leather.

Jay never lets anyone use his stuff. Carlos once tried to borrow a shirt after a brutal pirate fight, and Jay nearly took his fingers off with a sword.

“’Course I’m sure.” Jay shrugs and wraps the coat around Carlos’ shoulders. His fingers linger along Carlos’ throat, sliding along his skin. “Our parents are jerks, man,” he whispers. “We’ve gotta look out for each other.”

Carlos sucks back a breath at Jay’s touch. And his gaze lands on Jay’s bruised cheek. “You, too?”

“Yeah, well.” Jay drops his hand from Carlos’ throat. “I didn’t exactly get everything on Dad’s Christmas wish list.” He leaps to his feet, grabbing his empty sack.

A sack that a few minutes ago had held a bunch of trinkets.

Carlos slides to his feet and grabs Jay’s hand. “Hey. Did you – you didn’t return everything you stole, did you?” Could Jay have really had the strength to defy his father like that?

“Sure I did.” Jay shrugs. “It’s Christmas.”

“Jay.”

But Jay is no longer looking at Carlos. He’s dropping the sack into the bush, burying it beneath the greenery. “C’mon,” he says, kicking it into the dirt. “I have an idea.” With that, he laces their fingers together and pulls Carlos toward Isle Square.

Carlos waits, but Jay never lets go of his hand.

* * *

There’s a light gleaming at the top of the warehouse. Mal stops outside on the street and stares up at the yellowish glow. During her walk there, the teddy bear has somehow become cuddled within her arms, his half-severed head leaning against her chest. She strokes his matted fur and sighs.

She never walks away from Mother.

She never gives up on Mother’s schemes.

Her goal in life is to become Mal, Mistress of Evil. Mother’s frickin’ clone.

But something inside her broke tonight. Something shattered when Mother tore apart this teddy. When Mother tore into Mal’s gaze with her cold green glare.

The light in the warehouse seems warm. A tinge of yellow lighting up the dark Isle night. Beckoning Mal to a place Mother does not know. The home discovered just weeks ago by the Rotten Four.

Still cradling the teddy, she snatches a rock from the street and tosses it at the yellow sign that serves as their lock. The gate to the warehouse rises, and Mal stalks toward the stairs.

Whoever’s waiting in the warehouse, whoever turned on the light, has gotta be better than Maleficent.

* * *

Evie caresses the page of her book with a fingertip. The family painted on the page circles around their Christmas tree, their faces alight from the yellow glow of the lights. A fire crackles in the fireplace, casting a crimson gleam. Keeping the family warm from the fluttering white snow piled up outside their window.

Something inside Evie’s chest aches. She tries to picture herself and Mother standing around a Christmas tree, but the image flickers and fades. She cannot bring it to life.

She’s freezing in this warehouse. The clothes Mother forced her to wear are too low-cut. The shirt plunges so low, her chest is cold. A cold that seeps deeper inside each time she thinks of Mother.

She sighs and touches the page, prepared to flip, when someone stomps up the stairs.

Evie glances up from her book to discover Mal. Her purple hair is as wild as her eyes are green. She cradles a beaten-up teddy bear, stroking it as though it is a long-forgotten child.

Their eyes lock, and Mal’s face flares pink. “What are you doing here?” she asks. Her voice is rough – as rough as when Evie first came to Dragon Hall and Mal vowed to make her life miserable – but stitched within her words are threads of vulnerability.

Evie’s breath falters.

Something has changed. This girl, this wild Mal, is suddenly unguarded.

A smile springs to Evie’s lips. _There you are_. The words spring to her mind, and she realizes in that moment that she’s been waiting. Waiting months for Mal to take off her mask.

“Why are you staring?”

Evie shakes her head. “I’m not staring.” She tilts her head toward the space beside her on the Four’s overstuffed couch. “C’mere and I’ll read you a story.”

Mal hides behind a refuge of her purple hair, which has fallen into her eyes. “And just why would I want to hear a story?”

 _Because you look like a lost little girl._ “Because it’s Christmas, M. And people listen to stories on Christmas.”

It’s the first time Evie’s used the nickname, even though it’s been dancing on the tip of her tongue for weeks.

Mal flips her hair from her face and catches Evie’s gaze. The green in her eyes darkens, intensifies, as though from just one nickname, she’s gained the power to glimpse Evie’s thundering heart. “Fine.” She shuffles across the room, bouncing onto the couch by Evie’s side. “Read me a story then.”

Evie tries, she really does. She even curls her fingers around the storybook.

But now that Mal is close, Evie finds herself lost in the green of Mal’s eyes. In the way Mal’s looking at her, just her, like she really sees her. Evie reaches out and touches Mal’s hand, which is as cold as the night outside. “What happened tonight?”

Mal cringes, hiding her gaze beneath a fall of her eyelids. “Mother.” The word is cut from the harshest of fabrics, and sewn together with stapled stitches.

Evie knows it well. The same stitches are holding together her own broken heart. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Mal’s eyes open, the green somehow even more intense. Words sketch themselves across her face. Her features soften. Her lips curl upward. And she allows her cradled bear to drop from its place against her chest and land upon her lap.

As the bear falls, Mal’s eyes fall, too, sliding over Evie’s clothes. She stiffens. “What are you wearing?”

Evie sighs. “My mother was up to her own games tonight. She tried to make me…” Her face flares with heat, the memory of the pirate prince slicing through her thoughts. “She gave me princess lessons.”

Mal’s hand forms into a fist beneath Evie’s palm. “Give me a name and I’ll make sure he never walks again,” she growls.

A fog horn pierces the night, and Evie bites back a laugh just as harsh. “Don’t bother. I bit him so hard, I think he’ll need stitches.”

Mal’s hand twitches. And when Evie glances up, she finds Mal’s mouth twitching, too. “That’s my girl,” Mal murmurs.

Evie’s breath catches. The words knit themselves within her mind, woven in so many shades of emerald. The color of Mal’s eyes, which widen when the words leave her lips.

Mal opens her mouth, maybe to reclaim the words.

Before Mal can speak, Evie presses her lips to Mal’s parted mouth. _No way, M. I’m not gonna let you take it back._

Mal’s lips are cold, and when Evie kisses her, they freeze. Mal freezes, a fairy girl crafted from ice.

Evie slips back, just enough so that their lips are no longer touching but their breath still mingles. “Kiss me back,” she whispers, tracing her fingertips along Mal’s hand. “I dare you.” _I dare you to let go. I dare you to unfreeze. I dare you to let me inside._

Mal stares into Evie’s eyes, lost in the vortex of her stare. And then her gaze slips to Evie’s lips. All at once, she melts. Her lips part in a groan, and she slides her fingers through Evie’s hair, pulling her forward. Crushing their lips together in a kiss.

Mal’s lips slide along Evie’s, and Evie’s world turns to warmth. She is no longer freezing in the clothes forced onto her by her frigid mother. Her skin prickles with heat. A heat so intense, it slips beneath her chest, warming the place left cold by her mother’s slap. She wraps Mal in her arms and holds her close, finding herself in the warmth.

Long after, when they have stopped the kiss to catch their breath, when Mal has leaned her head against Evie’s shoulder, when Evie has wrapped her arm around Mal’s back, when the bear curls into its own corner of the couch, Mal gazes down at the book still opened on Evie’s lap. “Is this the story you were going to read me?” she asks, thumbing the painting of the Christmas tree.

“Mmhmm.” Evie nuzzles the top of Mal’s head, breathing in her fiery scent. “Someday, I’d like a Christmas like this one.”

“Mmm.” Mal kisses Evie’s shoulder. “Someday.”

There’s a promise in that word as it leaves Mal’s lips. As if she isn’t just repeating what she’s heard. As if she’s rolling it along her tongue, tasting its angles and curls.

Before Evie can discover its meaning, though, there’s a clatter on the stairs. Two boys appear in the warehouse. Carlos, lost in the contours of Jay’s leather coat, and Jay himself, who carries a browning Christmas tree.

“Did someone say Christmas?” Jay asks, wearing a mischievous grin.

A bubble of laughter springs from Mal’s lips. “You stole that tree from Isle Square, you thief.”

“Yup.” Jay turns the tree upright, allowing it branches to fan out. Dangling from all but a few is an ornament, and stretched between the ornaments are strings of tiny lights. 

Carlos touches the branches. “Jay and I have decided we’re gonna have a Christmas, right here in the clubhouse.”

“Like a family,” Evie breathes, sliding her fingers through Mal’s.

Mal leans her head against Evie’s shoulder. “Someday,” she whispers.

Evie’s heart glows.

Mal glances at Jay. “Set up the tree,” she says. “I’m gonna add some finishing touches.”

* * *

In the darkness of Christmas night, when the Isle streets below are coated in grey sludge and the sky fails to shine with the brightness of stars, the Rotten Four find in each other a family.

Jay guides Carlos to a corner and strips the boy of his jacket. Then, with touches careful and lingering, he applies a balm to the wounds along Carlos’ back. The concoction seeps warmth into Carlos’ muscles so that, when Jay is through, the sting is almost gone.

“I got you, man,” Jay murmurs, sliding Carlos back into his jacket.

Mal shrugs out of her own leather jacket and wraps it around Evie’s shoulders. “To keep you warm,” she says, placing a kiss on Evie’s cheek.

Jay coughs and rubs his mouth with a fist, hiding a smile.

A smile that vanishes when Mal glares, daring him to make another sound.

“Whatever,” Jay says, holding out his hands. But his smile returns, and he winks at Mal, who blushes.

Warm in Mal’s leather jacket, Evie skips away from the scene to find a needle and thread, and to collect the teddy bear. Cradling the bear in her arms, she sews his seams. And then she washes him with soap and water, until he is made new.

Setting the teddy bear beneath the tree, she calls the boys to the couch and opens up the Christmas story. Though the story is written for children, Carlos leans back into Jay’s arms and Jay nuzzles his chin against Carlos’ shoulder, and the two sit and listen to Evie read.

While Evie’s voice drifts through the room, Mal strides to the cupboards, where she uncovers cans of spray paint. The spritz of the paint mingles with the sounds of Evie’s story, filling the clubhouse with a kind of wild creativity.

Finally, when the moon dares to peek through clouds fat and grey, when the Christmas tree glimmers with lights plugged into the clubhouse walls, when the last notes of the story have been spoken and Evie has closed the book, Mal caps her spray paint and steps back from her work.

There, painted behind the tree, there is a window. And within the window, there is the fall of snow. On the opposite wall, there is a fireplace. A fireplace painted warm with crimson flame.

Mal gazes at Evie, her eyes alight. “Who says that someday can’t be now, E?”

Evie’s skin prickles with warmth at the light in Mal’s eyes and at the nickname that falls from Mal’s lips. She rises from the couch and grabs the bear. “No one at all,” she whispers, placing the creature in Mal’s arms.

Mal smiles down at the toy, smoothing her fingers along its seams. “You fixed her.”

“Fair trade.” Evie gathers Mal in her arms. “You fixed me.”

“You were never broken.” Mal murmurs the words against Evie’s heart.

“Neither were you,” Evie breathes the words into her hair. “You were always Mal.”

She gazes down at her girl, and touches their lips in a kiss. A kiss both gentle and soft, but filled with heat.

Jay clears his throat. “Yeah. If you two are gonna make out…”

Evie laughs against Mal’s lips. “We’ll continue this later then,” she murmurs. Stepping back, she turns to find the boys.

“Merry Christmas,” Carlos says with a grin.

“What he said.” Jay nods at the boy, grabbing his hand.

Evie raises her eyebrows at their touch. And at the way Mal slides her arm around Evie’s back, pulling her close. 

Things have changed tonight. Changed in ways that are good.

They have found their Someday.

Together with her family, Evie gathers around the Christmas tree, gazing at its lights and savoring the warm glow deep within her heart.


End file.
